


You Look So Pretty From Afar

by jinnora (nonbeenarys)



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: College!AU, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, M/M, Multichapter, band!au, coffeeshop!au, customerservice!zuko, everyone is 21, i guess?, sokka plays the guitar, they are all juniors?? or seniors?, this is kinda going to be a slow burn??, zukka - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24765457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonbeenarys/pseuds/jinnora
Summary: Zuko gets dragged to a house show for underground bands at his college, not expecting to become obsessed with the guitarist for the band Dream Wolves, named Sokka.((Title is a lyric from the song, "Daft Pretty Boys," by Bad Suns))
Relationships: Aang/Katara (Avatar), Mai/Ty Lee (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 129





	1. Chapter 1

The next time Zuko entered the living room, he was wearing a favorite grey turtleneck of his, thin and faded from overuse. He walked into the middle of the space—where the coffee/cocktail/paperwork table usually was—and shrugged gently. 

“No!” Ty Lee persisted from her spot on the couch. Next to her, Mai groaned, forehead resting in her hand. “How many times do I have to tell you, Zuko: we’re going to a concert, not the opening of an art gallery!” 

“This isn’t what I’d wear to the opening of an art gallery,” Zuko quietly retorted. 

“Mai!” Ty Lee demaded, laying her hand over Mai’s thigh. She was playing dirty: Zuko knew the action was to remind Mai of the sway Ty Lee should have over her opinion as her girlfriend, masked as an innocent touch. 

Mai rolled her eyes; for a moment Zuko thought he stood a chance, until she said, “Don’t you own normal clothes, Zuko? Like just a black tee shirt or something?” 

Zuko huffed. “I guess I can go and see.” And then it was back to his now messy bedroom, where almost his entire wardrobe covered his floor and bed and desk in crumpled heaps. Naturally, this would become Zuko’s responsibility to clean up, even though it was Ty Lee who insisted they waste a perfectly good Saturday night going to a concert for undergr0und college bands and who, after convincing Zuko and Mai to go along, hated every damn outfit Zuko had the strength to put on his body. He had tried sweaters and button downs and turtlenecks, but none “fit the mood,” according to Ty Lee. 

“Maybe I just don’t fit the mood,” Zuko grumbled. Despite himself, he found his black tee shirt almost immediately; he hadn’t gravitated towards it naturally, so it was one of the few tops left in his dresser drawer. But Zuko considered this speed more mocking and less lucky. 

He slid the shirt on, not caring to look at himself in the mirror before going to seek Ty Lee’s approval. 

“Finally!” she yelled, catapulting her body off of the couch to grab Zuko by the arm. “Let’s go. My friend’s band is on second, and the first act started five minutes ago!” 

Leading the group both in direction and enthusiasm, Ty Lee was out of their house first. It was small and nearly broken down, with a horrendous shade of green smothered on the exterior walls. Zuko would have preferred living in an apartment, one full of lean lines and granite detailing, but considering the size of his paycheck from the coffee shop he worked at—which was small—and the size of Ty Lee’s adoration for the house—which was large—Zuko was left with no other option than to rent it. He’d have to save his professional-grade apartment for when he had a professional-grade career. 

The house they arrived at fifteen minutes later wasn’t that much fancier. The only thing they had that Zuko’s house didn’t was a cement stairway that led up to the front door, since the house was slightly elevated above sidewalk level. 

And they had people. Lots and lots of people. 

“Fuck,” Zuko swore under his breath.

There were people in the backyard, people sitting in the windowsills, people waiting to be let inside in a line across the cement staircase, people inside that were pushed flush together. They were drinking, dancing, smoking, flirting, singing. Zuko regretted coming immediately. 

“You cannot be serious, Ty Lee,” he said as she led him and Mai into the waiting line. Once they secured a spot, Ty Lee turned her head back and grinned in response. It was far too innocent a look for her to not know what she had done to Zuko. 

“Ty Lee, come on.” Zuko’s voice got tense as he watched the section of the line in front of them shortening. “This is like all of the social interaction I get within a whole year packed into one house.” 

“It’s never too late to grow one’s social skills, Zuko,” Ty Lee responded sweetly. 

“Mai!” Zuko shouted desperately, widening his eyes. The line was moving dangerously fast. 

“Just go sulk in a dark corner to intimidate people out of talking to you.” 

“Isn’t that exactly what you were doing before Ty Lee came up to you at one of these things?” 

Mai couldn’t answer; they were already at the front door, getting their hands stamped by some guy in a beanie who looked like he had mentally transcended into a different dimension. But Zuko caught a smirk cut across Mai’s face as she turned to enter into the house, which was all the confirmation he needed. 

Inside was even worse than Zuko had imagined. A small pop-up platform—he struggled to call it a stage—took up about a third of the already tiny living room area, leaving sweaty bodies to be smashed together. The tight space also meant the speakers were right next to the audience, which Zuko couldn’t imagine was good for physical health, or for conversation, which Zuko preferred to dancing. Probably not with these kinds of people, though, he reasoned with himself. 

“Come on!” Ty Lee yelled, grabbing Zuko’s right hand with her left—the one not already busy holding one of Mai’s. “We have to get close enough that my friend can see me! And this is ‘Butterscotch’s’ most popular song, so it’s probably their closing act, so we have to hurry!” 

Even though it was impressive that Ty Lee had absorbed all of this knowledge without a textbook, what Zuko really couldn’t get over was that someone had decided to name their band ‘Butterscotch.’ He snickered loudly. 

Somehow, despite the noise, Mai heard him and turned her head his way. “‘Butterscotch?’” she asked knowingly, and Zuko instantly forgave her for not trying harder to get him out of this mess. 

“Suki!” Zuko heard Ty Lee yell from in front of him. Snapping his focus forwards, he found her hugging someone with shoulder length brown hair heavy with pink streaks, wearing a mesh silver top. It all made her seem like she belonged in this place. 

“Mai, Zuko,” Ty Lee said while turning towards them. “This is my sister, Suki, who—” 

“You don’t have any sisters that live around here,” Zuko interrupted. 

Mai sighed. “She means _sorority_ sister, dumbass.” 

Suki considered Zuko, as if she were a scientist analyzing an exotic species that somehow surfaced in an environment they had never been seen in. “You,” she said, jutting her finger out towards him, “look like you desperately need a drink.” As soon as Zuko opened his mouth to decline, Ty Lee agreed. “Wait here,” Suki instructed, not waiting another moment before sliding into the crowd. 

“I thought they didn’t sell drinks here,” Zuko pouted, crossing his arms in front of his chest, his elbows getting knocked a few times by people standing next to him during the process. 

“They don’t,” Ty Lee agreed. “This is Suki’s house. We’re getting special treatment.” 

Zuko considered his ridiculous love for their torn-up house. “Why would Suki ever donate her house to this cause?” 

“Because, dummy, she’s in one of the bands— Dream Wolves. They needed a place to play but couldn’t afford any well-known venues. So Suki just figured they could use her house and charge people like, three dollars each to get in. That way they made 100% of their profits and didn’t have to pay fees. And since it was so cheap, over time, people kept coming, and other bands wanted in. So Suki raised the price a bit, keeping a large portion of the profit for her band, but giving the other bands relatively good pay. It's a _business,_ Zuko.” 

Zuko stood there dazed, admiration so strong all he could respond with was, “Wow.” 

“Just because she’s in a sorority doesn’t mean she’s dumb,” Ty Lee said. 

“I never said that!” 

The conversation ended there, since Suki returned, four cans of beer in her grip. “Here you go, everyone.” Zuko thanked her alongside everyone else, even though he wasn’t a beer drinker; wine was more his style. But considering the fact three people bumped into him between the time he opened the can and brought it to his lips, maybe holding a wine glass here was far too disastrous to be worth it. 

The constant pushing he underwent in the crowd posed another challenge: he had to drink quickly. Luckily, Zuko found that the more he drank, the better the beer got. Suki ran for another few rounds as the next band played, but couldn’t stay beyond halfway through their section, since her band— _something to do with wolves?_ —was up next. 

“If that wasn’t the person you knew in the second band,” Zuko said, voice slightly slurred, “then exactly how many people do you know here?” 

“Only a few, really!” Ty Lee responded. Her arm was slung around Mai’s waist, their embrace the only thing that seemed to be keeping her standing.

About ten minutes later, when Suki’s band began to set up, Ty Lee turned to Zuko again. “We can go now, if you want. Even though I’m finally feeling great, you only agreed to staying for one”—she put up one finger, accentuating her point— “band, so it’s ok. Suki will still be my sorority sister if I leave. I’ll just say I had to puke!” 

Just as Zuko was ready to protest, something—or someone, really—caught his eye. He let his curiosity distract him from answering Ty Lee, indulging in it fully. The person was talking to Suki on their way up to the stage, laughing in the head-thrown-back way that seemed only achievable for movie characters. Across his torso an electric guitar hung comfortably; though Zuko couldn’t name the parts of it even when sober, he noticed that the body of it was a dark blue that faded into a lighter shade by the edges, and the part that elongated away from the guitar and held its strings was wooden. It seemed to fit the boy well, who, other than the guitar, wore a sleeveless striped button-down half-tucked into a pair of cuffed jeans. His hair was pulled back into a casual ponytail, exposing the singular earring that dangled off of his left ear. 

He was— Zuko struggled for the word to internally categorize him. He was definitely _something._

He also hadn’t really registered that he was staring until Ty Lee’s voice was ringing near his face, “Zuko! Earth to Zuko!” Zuko shook his head slightly, shifting his attention to her. “Do you want to stay?” 

“Yeah,” Zuko said. His mouth was strangely dry; he had to clear his throat before continuing with, “Suki gave us all the beer. It would be wrong to leave.” 

Ty Lee gave Zuko her warm-yet-mischievous smile and Zuko wondered what she thought she knew. 

With more care than he had with the last act, Zuko watched the band set up. Or, really, he watched the guitarist set up. He had walked over to the line of speaker box things—Zuko realized he had to learn the names of some of these objects once he was sober enough to take in information—and plugged his guitar into them one by one. It looked like he was testing them; each time he made a slightly different face in reaction, some horrified, some disgusted, some slightly pleased, all of them cute.

Once he settled on his favorite, he began playing a little melody, something simple and repetitive. Even if the progression got old, Zuko didn’t mind watching the way his arms flexed as he plucked the strings between nimble fingers.

Apparently Zuko’s attention on his fingers was too much; Zuko let out a deep exhale after who knew how long, letting his gaze turn, giving his heartbeat a break.

How the fuck am I supposed to get through this? Zuko wondered.

Zuko was too busy blocking out the rest of the world to realize Suki had stepped in front of the mic until she spoke into it. “Hi, everybody!” she said, with the same ease as she did when talking to Zuko and his friends, despite the fact the group size had increased exponentially. The thunder of their applause and hollers in response was a small indication of such. “Thank you for your support! And thanks for coming! I’m Suki, as most of you know. I'm the lead vocalist and I play some guitar.”

“Over on drums we have Jet,”—the drummer shook his drumsticks, making Zuko hopeful every band member would identify themselves so clearly—“on bass we have Haru, on the keys we have Toph, and playing lead guitar is Sokka.”

The guitarist bounced his instrument in his hands slightly. The air of it seemed awkward like he didn’t quite know what to do with the attention sent his way. Zuko found himself unnecessarily charmed by it. 

“And we’re Dream Wolves!”

Apparently, their band name was a cue, since they all jumped into the first song immediately. Zuko doubted that he would have been swaying to it so enthusiastically if it wasn’t for the alcohol; it wasn’t exactly the kind of music he gravitated towards, but it was loud in the way his drunken body wanted it to be, rough in the manner he’d expect from a group of college students who named their band after a wild animal, and just seductive enough that Zuko was given a good excuse to why he found Sokka so unnaturally magnetic. 

Because, to be honest, Zuko never went for guys in bands.

Usually, the guys Zuko were able to attract were TAs for philosophy classes he had already taken, or guys at the coffee shop who were reading favorite novels of Zuko's. These were the kind of people who liked wine more than Zuko. Whose dress shirts definitely weren’t sitting on their bedroom floors right now like his were. And who preferred violin to the indie pop—was this indie pop?—Sokka was playing. 

And writing: between the next two songs, Suki announced, “this next one is special not only because it’s a fan favorite, but because it is our only song whose lyrics are written by only one member: Sokka!” 

If Zuko thought he couldn’t handle seeing Sokka play the guitar, hearing him sing required a whole new definition of impossibility. Sokka wasn’t incredibly vocally talented but he sang what he knew how he knew to, voice thick and scratchy and deep and undeniably real. It was one of those voices that, if Zuko had been taking Sokka’s order at the coffee shop and didn’t look up while writing it down, would give away Sokka’s physical attraction immediately. 

And of course, on top of the rest of it, Sokka had to decide to write a love song of all things. 

Before he knew he was doing so, Zuko was stumbling back, body wearily navigating from the stage to the front door. A lot of the people he passed looked slightly alarmed, but no one stopped him from getting outside. He decided the best place to sit was on the damp grass. He lifted his can to drink from it, but it was somehow empty, despite him remembering the feeling of swishing liquid in the way outside. Unconvinced, Zuko checked the inside of the can for beer. Nothing was visible. As his gaze lifted up, it skimmed over the window, which from this angle allowed Zuko to see a smaller, smudgier version of Sokka from behind. Including shoulder muscles.

Freshly overwhelmed and still horribly drunk, Zuko fell onto his back.

He wasn’t sure when his eyes closed, or that he had even closed them, until he heard familiar voices without seeing the bodies they were coming from. 

“He looks dead,” Mai’s unmistakable voice observed. “I can either kick him or check his pulse. Both do the trick.”

“If I knew he didn’t have alcohol poisoning, I’d prefer the kicking, but we could really hurt him,” Ty Lee argued.

“That’s the whole point of the kicking.”

Out of some instinct to save himself, Zuko lifted one arm. “Alive,” he mumbled. Barely, he wanted to add.

“You don’t sound it,” Mai countered. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

And that’s how Zuko figured out all it took was drunken sexual frustration to get him out of social events.


	2. Chapter 2

Monday came too quickly; Zuko spent all day Sunday getting over his hangover and, as a result, the beginning of the week appeared seemingly out of nowhere. 

Zuko had the opening shift at the coffee shop he worked at—The Jasmine Dragon—every Monday. He had realized during the first semester that he had worked there, almost two years ago now, that Monday morning was the busiest time of the week. Zuko theorized it was the combination of some college students’ Monday fatigue and others’ attempts to get up before class for coffee every day—a hope that was typically abandoned by Wednesday at the latest—that made this a trend. So, Zuko preferred to work from 7 AM to 2 PM; it didn’t hurt that his uncle owned the shop, giving him automatic priority. Call it nepotism, but Zuko had to pay for his little green house somehow. 

There were also the less practical reasons Zuko loved opening the coffee shop on Mondays. As he walked into the shop, breathing in the scent, he was reminded of one of them: the smell of coffee first-thing. He also loved the gentle hums of opening, the fact his soft footfalls were almost all that were heard, except for the scrape of metal against wood as he took chairs off of tables. There was the gentle stirring of the the machines, how they woke up with whirrs as Zuko walked behind the coffee bar and flipped switches and pressed buttons. The only machine that was already on was the espresso machine, meaning, as usual his uncle had woken up early to dial in the espresso. Now, Zuko didn’t have to worry about the task of adjusting and readjusting the beans to find a shot with a pleasant taste—he could just get started on making his drink for the day. 

He reached for a crimson mug off of the espresso machine, satisfied by the gentle clink of ceramic against metal. At the realization he had been calmed by the sound, Zuko laughed to himself. 

“God, Zuko,” he chuckled. “How did you get dragged to a party when you like the quiet this much?” 

“A party?” A voice said from Zuko’s side, making him almost drop the mug. 

Zuko whipped his head around, finding his uncle standing before him, eyebrows raised. 

“You scared me, Uncle,” Zuko said, stating the obvious. 

“You scared me too!” Iroh insisted, moving towards Zuko and placing his hand on Zuko’s shoulder. “What did you do to my nephew? I know him well and he is not the partying type.” 

Zuko snickered, turning back to the counter to work on his latte. “Ty Lee forced me to go. But trust me—I’m still the same. If anything, it proved to me that I’m as much against partying as I always thought I was. I barely enjoyed it.” 

“But you did enjoy it a little?” 

Images flashed in Zuko’s mind: a blue electric guitar; a striped, sleeveless button-up shirt; a boy laughing on his way up to the stage. Zuko felt his eyes narrow from thought, searching for a name that his drunkenness that night seemed to have stolen from him. When it came to him, Zuko smiled. _Sokka._

“Yeah,” Zuko responded, feeling heat rise up the back of his neck. “I did.” 

Zuko knew that his Uncle was smirking at him; despite the obviousness of Zuko’s fluster, Iroh moved away, in the direction of the storage room where Zuko realized he had come in from. 

“I’m going back into the office for a few minutes. I’ll be back down before we open.” 

Zuko didn’t respond; instead, he moved over to the steam wand to steam the milk for his drink. Underneath the hiss of the wand, Zuko heard the storage room door groan shut, allowing him to let out an exhale. Then, out of nowhere, Zuko started humming. Even more strange, Zuko couldn’t identify the song. So, he continued humming, determined to identify it, only quelled from the annoyance of not knowing it as customers trickled in and he didn’t have time to think about it. 

But it came back when things slowed down. “Ugh,” Zuko groaned, slapping his hand against the side of his head as the espresso machine ran. “What are you?” 

“Are you okay?” Yue, Zuko’s favorite coworker, asked from her spot at the cash register. 

Zuko was intent on not looking at her; luckily, he had a wonderful excuse, as he was busy finishing the mocha for a regular of theirs’. “I just have this song stuck in my head. And it’s strange, because I don’t even know what it is!” 

Knowing Yue, she was probably narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips in thought. As soon as Zuko was ready to agree with how impossible identifying the tune was, she suggested, “Why don’t you just change the playlist to one of Spotify’s top 50? It’s probably just some song you heard on the radio somewhere that’s stuck in your head.” 

Zuko grinned. “No wonder you’re majoring in astrophysics,” he complimented. 

“Every major is difficult in its own way,” she dismissed. Yue’s natural humility meant that Yue never took a compliment about school without reframing it into a universal truth. Zuko learned to get over it quickly; he gave only a small sigh before sliding the drink to the pick-up area, calling out the name of the regular customer, then moving to the designated D.J. computer. 

For the next two hours, the pace of new customers was generally slow, allowing Zuko lots of time to try and figure out the song. But none of them seemed to be it. By the time the playlist had run through, it was Zuko’s turn to man the cash register. So he had to turn behind himself to tell Iroh and Yue, “It didn’t play. I don’t think this song exists.”

“It must be an original!” Iroh beamed. “Maye you should become a composer!” 

Yue giggled while Zuko sighed. “You forget that I haven’t picked up the only instrument I know how to play for two years now. I don’t exactly have musical talent anymore.” 

Iroh’s thought for a moment. “Well, I do suppose my singing is the closest our family gets to musical talent.” 

Instead of trying to fight a useless battle, Zuko rolled his eyes, turning his head back out towards the cafe. But that caused him to flinch back; there was a boy at the front of the bar, hands in the pockets of his jeans, standing so quietly Zuko had no idea he had been waiting there at all. As Zuko absorbed the shock of his presence, Zuko was able to actually take in the person in front of him: someone with a short ponytail, a striped shirt with pattern cut off by backpack straps, and one earring—a black arrow, pointing downwards—dangling from his right ear. Someone Zuko realized he knew. 

_Sokka_ was Zuko’s first thought. 

_Oh, fuck me,_ was his second. 

“Hi,” Zuko said, his regular customer service voice about two octaves higher. Then, after clearing his throat in an embarrassingly obvious way, “Sorry for the wait. I didn’t see you there.” 

Sokka smiled, and, shit, that was a lot more to take in up close. “No worries. You all looked busy—hey, do I know you? You look familiar.” 

Zuko really didn’t need someone that good looking to also be considerate. That, on top of the fact that he had definitely seen Zuko at the house show, made Zuko want to run out of the shop and not come back. He was already nervous enough when he was a stranger to Sokka: his fingers had been drumming against the countertop furiously ever since realizing it was Sokka that was on the other side of the counter. 

“Uh, I don’t think so?” Zuko lied. Internally he continued with, _but I definitely know you. How could I forget?_ Sokka nodded lightly, but something inside of Zuko felt like Sokka hadn’t bought his words completely. So Zuko rushed on: “What can I get for you?” 

“To be honest, uh, I’m kind of out of my league here. I’m usually a Starbucks person.” 

_Finally, a flaw._ Zuko scoffed, accidentally letting his thought of, “Makes sense,” slip out. Sokka’s lips, which were turned upwards, fell into a straight line across his face. Desparate to recover, Zuko blurted, “No, I just mean like...you seem trendy, and Starbucks is trendy. I mean, I personally wouldn’t spend six dollars on coffee like that, but I’m not in charge of your decision making—” 

“It’s cool, man,” Sokka said, hands in front of his body, as if gesturing Zuko to slow down his rambling. Zuko shut up immediately, so embarrassed he could feel his cheeks burning. “I was just trying to make a joke, ‘cause you seem like someone who actually knows stuff about coffee.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Once again, Zuko found himself needing to clear his throat to speak. “Uh, Starbucks usually has sweet drinks, so maybe a mocha? As long as you’re not allergic to chocolate or anything.” 

Zuko couldn’t figure out why he didn’t stop talking where the helpful thoughts ended. But luckily, Sokka smiled at him—it was so warm and gentle Zuko felt his knees weaken—and laughed. “No, I’m not allergic to chocolate. And that sounds great. But, uh, iced, please” 

“Cool.” Zuko turned his attention to the cash register; now that he was able to look away from Sokka’s distractingly blue eyes and sharp jawline, he felt his brain function coming back slightly. “One iced mocha. What size would you like?” 

“Uh, do you guys do medium?” 

Unwilling to look up, Zuko answered, “We have twelve ounce, sixteen ounce, and twenty ounce.” 

“Sixteen, I guess?” 

_Shit, even his voice is attractive,_ Zuko thought. The realization hit him squarely in the chest; Zuko had to clear his throat before asking, “And for here or to go?” 

“For here.” 

Zuko simply nodded. He was too busy remembering cataloguing the backpack straps on Sokka’s shoulders earlier, internally yelling at himself at how obvious it was that Sokka was staying. Zuko couldn’t decide how he felt about it: on one hand, there was now the ability for Zuko to sneak secret glances his way—Zuko was certain that Sokka was the kind of person who looked cute when thinking—but also, the fear of embarrassing himself in front of Sokka, a fear that multiplied the longer Sokka stayed.

So, because it was stuck in his head, Zuko found himself humming that song again while finishing inputting the order. At least now it was helpful in filling up the awkwardness he had created between him and Sokka. 

Until, of course, Sokka had to ask, “Hey, what are you humming?” 

Zuko sighed. “You tell me. It’s been stuck in my head all day and I can’t place it.” 

“Hmmm. To me it sounds like the song, ‘Little Daffodils,’ by Dream Wolves.” 

_Fuck._ Zuko looked up, definitely caught now, to a Sokka who was wearing a shit eating grin. If he wasn’t so busy trying to formulate escape routes to save him from the deadly embarrassment that was spreading through him, Zuko might have found the smug look attractive. “So that’s where I know you from,” Sokka pieced together. “You went to the house show.” Zuko just stammered in response, looking for any words that weren’t a yes. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I, uh, didn’t realize you were there.” Considering how much Zuko refused to forget how Sokka looked at the house show, with arms tightening while strumming or teeth that would bite into his lip while performing a particularly impressive riff, it had to be the biggest lie Zuko ever told. 

Sokka just chucked. Even though Zuko didn’t know him well, something about the dismissiveness of it made Zuko certain that Sokka wasn’t convinced. “Okay, then. How much do I owe you?” 

Zuko looked at the screen. It read $5.20. But instead, Zuko said, “Nothing. You had to wait. It’s on the house.” 

“No, really—” 

“I’ll call it out when it’s ready,” Zuko said, turning away before Sokka had a chance to say anything else. He made his way to where the iced drink glasses were, keeping his head down to control himself from looking to see if Sokka was still at the cash register. It caused Zuko to run into someone’s shoulder. 

Because no one yelped in surprise at the contact, Zuko had to look up to identify the person; it was Uncle Iroh. He was smirking at Zuko in an impossibly obnoxious way. 

“What?” Zuko sneered, letting the anger of it restrict him from accidentally blushing.

Uncle Iroh glanced at Yue knowingly, who was standing to his right, causing both of them to laugh. “Oh, nothing,” Iroh said in a sing-song voice. Zuko deepened his scowl. “Just that you have been working here for years and out of the blue make a drink while on cashier duty, for a young man who happens to seem extremely friendly towards you…” 

Zuko’s teeth were gritted. “It’s nothing.” Yue giggled, immediately covering her mouth with her hand to block the sound, but Zuko had already heard it. “You’re both lucky I happen to like you so much,” he continued before turning away to keep making Sokka’s drink. He had to shake his head from time to time to try and get their still-obvious chuckles out of his ears. It made it so, when Zuko called out Sokka’s drink, he was more relieved to be far away from them then stressed at the concept of seeing Sokka again. 

So Zuko wasn’t thinking enough about potentially embarrassing himself when he called out, “Sixteen ounce mocha for Sokka.” 

Zuko instantaneously stopped in his tracks. Sokka had never given Zuko his name; if Zuko waited by the end of the bar for Sokka to get his coffee, there was no way that Sokka—who was already looking for evidence of why Zuko didn’t tell him the truth about going to the house show—would let it slide. Zuko’s eyes scanned the room for Sokka, finding him at a table tucked into a corner, focusing on his laptop’s screen intensely before gently coaxing it downwards. He didn’t look panicked or shocked, but, since he had figured out Zuko was lying with an unprecedented ease, Zuko couldn’t bet on that unbothered nature to save himself from embarrassment. So, he fled to where Iroh and Yue were; their teasing might have been ruthless, but anything was better than facing Sokka after that mistake. 

“Zuko, the song!” Yue blurted out as soon as Zuko had gotten over to them. Zuko knew it was a cover for whatever they were talking about earlier, which was obviously, from the high pitch of Yue’s voice, Zuko. “Did you ever figure out its title?” 

“Yeah,” he responded, doing everything he could to fight the urge to look behind himself and see if he was in the clear. 

“So, is it on the charts, then?” she continued. 

“No. It’s by a small band.” 

Yue’s eyebrows were scrunched. “Then how did you place it?” 

“Uh…” —Zuko’s mind filled with the image of Sokka's smirk after he shared the name, obnoxiously cocky and attractive because of it— “I just got lucky, I guess.” 

The real stroke of luck happened right afterwards: the service bell rang, conveniently whisking Zuko away from any further scrutiny Yue or Iroh might have directed towards him. It didn’t, however, save Zuko from Yue’s sly smile a few minutes later as he told her the order to make; he realized in that moment that he should have made it himself to make the reason behind him making Sokka’s less obvious. 

That meant that Zuko was left equally unwilling to make conversation with Yue and Iroh as he was to look out into the shop, afraid to catch eyes with Sokka. His solution was to observe his fingers as they aggressively drummed on the counter behind the cash register. 

It lasted about three minutes before Yue called out Zuko’s name and he craned his neck back towards her. “I think this is for you,” she said, holding out a napkin towards him. Zuko took it and started reading.

_Dear person who made my coffee,_

_I think it's unfair that I have to refer to you by this, since you obviously know my name— yeah, I caught that slip. I will look past the fact you lied about not knowing me if you tell me your name. Also b/c this mocha is damn good._

_-Sokka_

Zuko looked up at Sokka immediately. He was scribbling in a notebook furiously, seemingly unbothered despite how—Zuko searched for the word; was it flirtatious?—charged the letter was. Zuko started thinking about the possibilities for what this letter meant. Was Zuko’s crush that obvious, making all of this an elaborate scheme for Sokka to let Zuko down easy? Was Sokka genuinely angry about the lie? Or did Sokka actually want to know more about Zuko?

Despite the reason, Zuko was off, storming towards Sokka. The napkin was being balled up by his clenching hand. His heart was stuttering in his chest. Just before Zuko reached the table, Sokka glanced up, noticing him. 

He smiled again and Zuko nearly tripped over his own feet. 

In a strange kind of exchange for the smile, Zuko gave the napkin back. It fluttered open as it landed atop some textbooks. “Zuko,” he said, as steadily as he could manage. “My name is Zuko.” 

Sokka was still grinning at him. “That’s a cool name,” he responded. “Zuko.” Sokka said it like he was trying out the letters in his mouth, like he wasn’t sure how exactly it would feel for him to say it. Zuko, meanwhile, was attempting to not blush at the attention Sokka was giving his name. 

“So, Zuko, did you like our show Saturday night?” 

_I liked watching you,_ he immediately thought. 

“I….” he began, looking around himself for some kind of an escape from this conversation. “I actually have to go, you know, get back to work,” he decided. “Bye.” 

As Zuko made his way back, he finally got the chance to let go of a breath that he had been holding for that entire conversation. While that was one of the main reasons why he had left, Zuko did know that at some point soon, he would be done with his shift and on his way to his literature class. But he couldn’t pretend that being late to class wasn’t the only thing restricting him from that conversation. It seemed impossible for him to talk to Sokka without embarrassing himself, so there was no point in trying. Plus, there was literally no way that someone who played the guitar and talked to strangers so suavely and smiled brightly enough to melt snow in winter could possibly be attracted to Zuko. Zuko’s playing field was pretentious, stuffy, and shrewd. 

When Zuko finally got behind the counter, he checked his phone, finding that his instincts were right: he only had ten minutes of work left for the day. As he walked out of the shop ten minutes later, embarrassed but still totally enamored, Zuko couldn’t help giving one last glance Sokka’s way. Sokka was still in the same spot, nose dug into his textbook, a frown set across his face. 

And he was there the next day, too. Same spot and everything; it forced Zuko to do a double-take as he entered the shop for his Tuesday shift, his mind already boggled and desperately in need of caffeine after a full morning of philosophy classes. 

As usual—they scheduled around one another—Yue greeted him happily as he stepped behind the bar. Instead of reciprocating the hello, Zuko jumped right into, “Do you know why Sokka is here again?” 

“Who’s Sokka?” she asked.

Zuko jutted his head towards the corner table. “The guy sitting over there. With the short ponytail.” 

Yue observed Sokka for a second, holding a tension between her brows that was quickly released—Zuko knew then that she had figured something out. “Oh, he’s the guy that came in here yesterday, who you made a big fuss about—” 

“I did _not_ make a big fuss.” 

She giggled. “Okay, then. Whatever you say.” 

“I did not make a big fuss!” Zuko repeated, loudly, realizing too late that even if he didn’t make a big fuss yesterday, he most definitely was making one now. He took a second to slow down his breathing. “Anyways,” he said, keeping his tone as calm as possible, “let’s talk about absolutely anything else. Did you get notice of that study abroad internship yet? It’s almost the end of the semester.” 

Zuko had wanted to quit immediately when Yue had told him she might be spending a whole semester in Arizona working at an observatory. She had assured him that the application was extremely competitive and that it was unlikely that she would get it; knowing Yue, that meant she was extremely qualified, but too humble to be confident about it. Zuko knew that his generally bad luck and Yue’s brilliance would lead to him definitely being without his favorite coworker next semester. 

So he was annoyed when Yue shook her head in response to the question. “I don’t understand what they’re looking to gain by withholding the results,” Zuko complained, “since you obviously got it.” 

“This coming from the person who is begging me to not go.” 

“Well, I want you to get it,” Zuko said honestly—Yue deserved something like this to prove to herself she was as gifted as everyone else knew she was. “And then I’d want you to reject it so I don’t have to go through training some person who’s only ever used a Keurig.” 

Yue’s laughter was so loud and bright, Zuko barely heard the service bell that rang behind him. “You go. It’s the least you could do after asking me to not to take an internship just for you.” 

“Fair,” he agreed. Zuko turned around and, of course, it was Sokka standing there. Maybe Yue was looking for fairness, but Zuko figured she probably had seen that it was Sokka, so found some innocent way to persuade Zuko to take the order. There was no way that Yue saw Sokka, who today was in a t-shirt that clung tightly to his arms and matched the shade of his blue eyes, and didn’t know exactly what kind of trap she was setting for Zuko. 

“I rang the bell this time,” Sokka smiled. He gestured towards it, as if Zuko wasn’t acutely aware of exactly where it was. 

“I heard,” Zuko responded. He had to resist the urge to palm himself on his forehead at the obviousness of the response. “What can I get for you today, Sokka?”

Sokka peered up at their chalkboard menu. “What sandwiches do you recommend? I’ve been here for a while and I worked straight through lunch.” 

“Yeah, it’s two.” Zuko did his best to stop himself from imagining how long Sokka might have been there. He couldn’t possibly have been holding out until Zuko arrived; that kind of stuff only happened in the sappy, straight rom-coms that Ty Lee openly loved and Zuko secretly enjoyed. “And, uh, the turkey and swiss is my favorite.”

“Then I’ll take that,” Sokka smiled. Zuko nodded before punching it into the cash register. 

“Any more coffee?” 

“I think I better eat first. I’m so caffeinated I can feel each of my individual nerve endings.”

Zuko let out a loud laugh at the comment; it was only after that Zuko realized that it was the first time Sokka had heard him laugh, which was a strangely terrifying prospect. He peered up slightly. Sokka was smiling with something that looked like pride, as if he was pleased with himself for making Zuko laugh. Zuko tried to not read into it, fully aware that he’d probably explode if that were the truth. 

“You’ll, uh, get used to it,” Zuko offered, distracting himself by carrying out conversation. “Starbucks is kind of watered down, really sweet...this coffee might pack a bigger punch if that’s what you’re used to.” 

“Well, I’m very set on strengthening my coffee intake. I’ll come here every day if that’s what it takes.” 

Zuko’s body froze at the idea; he wasn’t sure if he should be more excited or terrified by the prospect of Sokka coming in on a daily basis. The more Sokka came into the shop, the higher the risk was that Zuko would keep stumbling through sentences and tripping over his own feet. But he couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed looking at Sokka. 

“Every day?” Zuko questioned. 

“Yeah.” Sokka was smirking at him, and Zuko could swear that there was something like playfulness in the glance. “Why?” 

“I don’t work weekends,” Zuko blurted. It was completely despite himself: _where did that even come from? he thought. Now he’s going to know that I want him to be here when I am. I mean, I do want that—_

Sokka responded, “Good to know,” pulling Zuko out of his thoughts. “I mean, the mocha you made...it definitely was better than the one that I got this morning.” 

Oh. Zuko felt his chest tighten; obviously, there was no reason for Sokka to care when Zuko was working except for ensuring the quality of his drinks. 

But still, Sokka kept talking: “So, uh, it’s probably the best if you told me when you’re working exactly, so I can make sure to come in when you’re here.” 

Zuko shifted nervously on his feet. “Oh, uh, sure. Tomorrow and Friday I work from seven to noon, and on Thursday, I work from two to six. And your total is five dollars exactly.” He turned the register towards Sokka. 

For a second, while Sokka paid, it was quiet between the two of them, giving Zuko a necessary moment to catch his breath. But, then, Sokka added, “I have class tomorrow morning, but I’ll be here after, at like 10-ish, probably half-asleep.” 

Zuko did everything he could to ignore the fact it almost sounded like they were meeting up. Almost like they were going on a date. Except for the fact Zuko was also at work at the same time. And Sokka would be far away, sitting at a table, doing work, definitely not thinking about Zuko. 

“Okay,” Zuko responded, too stunned for anything more elaborate. Then, in a moment of luck, he remembered that he needed to call out the order behind him to Yue—he caught her eye in the process, which was sparkling with micheveousness. 

When Zuko turned his head back out towards the shop, Sokka was already gone, walking towards his table again. Zuko should have been grateful for it: if there was something he definitely didn’t have the mental or emotional capability to handle, it was more conversation with Sokka. Still, his heart felt unresolved.

As promised, Sokka came back the next day. His earring was now dangling from the opposite ear— _it’s probably bad that I know that,_ Zuko thought to himself.   
“Do you do extra shots here?” he asked wearily. His hair was slightly mussed; Zuko imagined Sokka running his hands through it during class, confused to the point of frustration. It looked adorable. “My mind feels like it’s been put through a pressure cooker.” 

“How many do you need?” Zuko chuckled. 

“How many can I have until my body starts to shut down out of hypercaffeination?”

Zuko’s grin was stupidly wide, but he let himself sink into it for longer than normal since Sokka was too tired to say anything coy. “Does four sound okay? Two is our typical amount.” 

Sokka just nodded. He was dreary like that for the rest of the time he sat in the coffee shop; Zuko looked over at him from time to time, finding him resting his head in his hands with elbows on the table, or attempting to study just to end up with his head between the pages of his textbook. Zuko smiled to himself. Sokka only managed to last there for another hour, after which he sent Zuko—who was always looking at Sokka—an apologetic look while walking out the door. 

By Thursday, even though Yue was working the register when Sokka walked in, Zuko happily switched with her. It earned him another suggestive look, but it was a small price to pay for the warmth that Sokka’s waiting smile spread through him. 

“Want your regular?” Zuko asked, already inputting it into the register without even needing to look down to accurately press the screen. 

“Actually”—Sokka shifted back and forth on his feet— “I’d like your regular. I realize that, for being the person who has given me all of the coffee advice I’d ever received, I know relatively little about what you like.” 

Zuko felt his mouth part slightly, not hiding his confusion about why Sokka would care ah0ut something as seemingly redundant as his favorite coffee order. “I, uh…” he began, the intensity of Sokka’s focus on him causing his mind to momentarily go blank. “Lavender latte. That’s my favorite. But it’s kind of an acquired taste—” 

“Nope, not for me.” He smiled proudly, and something inside of Zuko told him that, regardless of how much he argued, Sokka’s mind was made up. 

But that knowledge couldn’t stop Zuko from sighing. “Iced still? And sixteen ounce?” Sokka nodded, Zuko put in the order, Sokka paid, and Zuko gave the order to Yue. But when he turned his head, Sokka was still there. In front of him. “You didn’t want anything else, right?” Zuko asked. 

“Actually, yeah. Uh, so you knew my coffee order, and now we’re even there, but I still don’t know anything else about you, and you know I’m in a band. I feel like I've earned one piece of Zuko trivia.” 

“I didn’t know we were bartering information,” Zuko said immediately, thankful it seemed more off-put then it did shocked because, yet again, Sokka wanted to know things about him, and Zuko wasn’t sure what to do with that information. How to feel about it. 

Sokka just shrugged, staying silent. Waiting. His gaze on Zuko was gentle, and Zuko was realizing that, even though it was still slightly overwhelming to be the subject of Sokka’s attention, he quite liked it. 

“I’m a double major,” he answered. “Literature and philosophy.” 

Sokka let out an impressed whistle, making heat creep up the back of Zuko’s neck. Most people expressed emotions ranging from respect to awe when Zuk0 shared his areas of study, to which Zuko was generally unaffected, so why should Sokka being impressed make him so flustered? Sokka continued: “That must be a ton of work. How much do you read a night?”

“Sorry,” Zuko tsked, “but you only qualify for one piece of free Zuko trivia.”

In response, Sokka scoffed, the disbelief in the sound making Zuko oddly proud of himself. “Fine.” He rolled his eyes, and Zuko was beaming. “I guess I’ll just have to come back tomorrow, going super out of my way, for my next one.”

But, during Zuko’s Friday shift, Sokka was nowhere to be found.


	3. Chapter 3

“He’s probably just embarrassed,” Mai said with an unbothered tone, most of her attention taken by trying to decide which pieces of pizza to take from the box Zuko had brought home with him. It was already a few slices down, since Ty Lee had grabbed some before and was now leaning against a counter and eating happily. 

In frustration, Zuko kicked his feet, knocking them into the cabinet below the counter he was sitting on. “You don’t get it Mai!” he wailed. “You saw Sokka at the house show. Imagine me trying to form words at someone like that. And Yue kept laughing. I obviously had made a fool of myself.”

Mai sighed. “I mean, you’re right, I wasn’t there—” 

“—Thank you—” 

“—But,” Mai paused here, accentuating it, “it still doesn’t sound like he wasn’t flirting, or, at least, very interested in being around you.” 

Zuko considered this. Yes, Sokka didn’t seem against the concept of Zuko’s presence, but Mai and Ty Lee weren’t there to hear how heavily Sokka had emphasized Zuko’s barista skills as the reason behind Sokka’s scheduling. Mai wasn’t aware that the one time Sokka had asked Zuko for non-coffee shop related information about him, Sokka was only doing so because he felt it was owed to him. It wasn’t genuine—it couldn’t have been. There was no way someone like Sokka, who wrote and performed love songs to adoring listeners, would ever have feelings for someone terrified of concerts and of being themself. 

“So he likes how I make his coffee,” Zuko agreed. “But that doesn’t mean he likes me.” 

“Zuko!” Now it was Ty Lee screaming at him from across the kitchen, her casual leaning lost to an accusatory posture of her pointing a finger to his face. “He wrote you a note, did he not?” 

_Oh shit._

Zuko darted his gaze towards Mai, who had her eyebrows raised. “You never mentioned a note.” Her tone was disturbingly calm despite her anger; its stoic quality terrified Zuko.

“Ty Lee”—Zuko looked towards her—“how did you know?” 

“It was my day for laundry on Monday. I was checking pants pockets and I took out the balled-up napkin in your jeans. I threw it towards the waste bin but it missed. When I went to pick it up it was all unraveled. The message was _right there.”_

Zuko felt his bones lock into place. He instantly regretted not throwing the note out at the shop, but then Sokka would have seen it. Another conversation with his friends regarding him feeling undeserving of the love he desired was a small price to pay for not making Sokka upset. 

Mai cleared her throat. “The note was romantic, wasn’t it?” 

“No!” Zuko shouted at the same time as Ty Lee replied, “kind of.” 

“What did it say”—Zuko went to open his mouth, ready to explain how it happened because Zuko had been a lying asshole, but he was shut down as Mai finished her question with a pointed— “Ty Lee?” 

“Unfair!” Zuko pouted. “I should get to talk first. Ty Lee wasn’t even there!” 

“You’ll get your turn, pouty,” Mai responded. Zuko huffed out a breath at the nickname, then wiped the pout off of his face, reluctant for Mai to be correct. 

Ty Lee cleared her throat. “Okay, I have a confession, I actually kind of...saved it.” 

“Ty Lee!” Zuko jumped down from the counter, approaching her. 

“I’m sorry!” she shouted. “It just seemed romantic and important. Plus, it obviously was directed at you, Zuko, so I didn’t want to toss it then realize you wanted it!” 

Zuko exhaled loudly, releasing the tension in his shoulders. “That’s fair,” he grumbled. I appreciate your care, but—” 

“—Thank you—” 

“I’d appreciate it more if you didn’t show it to Mai! Or, at least, if you let me explain it first.” 

“Fine,” Mai said. Zuko looked at her—somewhere within his argument with Ty Lee, she had set down her plate of pizza and was now crossing her arms in front of her chest. “You explain, then Ty Lee reads the letter, then we discuss over pizza in the living room.” 

It was a good enough plan, Zuko figured. And Ty Lee seemed to agree; she nodded enthusiastically before hopping up onto the counter, quite literally giving Zuko the floor. 

Zuko began stumbling around for words. _This is a good enough plan, but it assumes I can speak without getting flustered, he realized too late._

So it was quiet for a few moments before the patient silence Ty Lee and Mai gave him was interrupted by Zuko clearing his throat. Then, he attempted words once more: “So, uh, basically, Sokka came in and I was like ‘Oh, shit, it’s him.’ And then I tried to be all aloof—” 

“Was it hard?” Mai snickered. 

Zuko shot her the coldest look he could while being severely embarrassed. “I think it was actually too mean. Or meaner than I meant. Then, when calling out his order, I used his name, but he hadn’t given it to me because I already knew it, so didn’t ask for it. So he left me a note when he picked up his drink asking me to explain and asking me for my name, since I knew his. So it was entirely fair, and probably all because he wants to be treated respectfully.” 

It was an oversimplification, Zuko knew, but that didn’t stop him from omitting the parts he wanted to keep private: the way Sokka had called his name cool, the way he had wanted to continue the conversation afterwards and probably would have, if Zuko hadn’t stormed off. 

He was probably just relieved and shocked to find a barista that had time to talk to him, Zuko figured, remembering his last Starbucks trip years ago and how busy it always seemed to be there. 

Mai seemed unimpressed with Zuko’s retelling. She was clearly thinking, lips pursed and eyebrows narrowed, but kept the thoughts to herself. Zuko guessed she was waiting until she had all of the information, until the letter was read. 

So it wasn’t a surprise that, when she finally spoke, it was a request for Ty Lee to go get the note. Ty Lee was gone immediately and returned with the napkin just as quickly. Or maybe it was slower in real life, but Zuko felt the transition was something inhumanly fast, due to the fact he wanted to keep Mai from knowing about it for as long as possible. 

“A napkin?” Mai questioned, disbelief thick in her voice. 

“Yeah, why?” Ty Lee asked. 

Mai settled her face back into calmness. “I just expected it to be on paper, since you kept calling it a letter. But there’s no issue. So, Ty Lee, if you could…” 

Ty Lee began reading the note. While Zuko had expected himself to be horrendously flushed while hearing it out loud, all he was feeling was strangeness; he had only imaged the words spoken to him in Sokka’s voice, so hearing them in Ty Lee’s brighter and higher pitch was nothing short of disquieting. 

Because of it, Ty Lee finished reading the letter before Zuko fully registered the words. 

What brought him out of this trance was Mai screaming his name, right after Ty Lee’s voice had faded from finishing the letter. 

“What?” he screamed back with equal venom in his tone. 

Mai was looking at him with wide eyes, like he had done something shockingly stupid. “This note!” she yelled back. “It’s pretty clear that it has flirtatious undertones. Finding some excuse to know your name, even though baristas always ask for their customers’ at Jasmine Dragon—” 

“Well, I didn’t ask for his!” 

“That still doesn’t explain why he wanted to know yours! And why he had to write a note, instead of just asking you when he got the drink.” 

Zuko furrowed his brows. “What does that have to do with anything? Oh, and also, we’re supposed to be eating pizza.” 

“Yes,” Mai agreed, looking from Zuko to the box and back to Zuko. “Don’t think this will distract me, though.” 

Zuko knew it was a cheap shot with a slim chance at working so wasn’t surprised when, once they had all gotten their food and moved into the living room, Mai returned to their conversation immediately. 

“Zuko,” she sighed quietly but firmly, “What is the point of letters if he could just go up to you and ask you for your name himself?” 

“Well, you don’t know all of the details! Yue and Iroh were giggling at us the whole time I spoke to him. He probably just didn’t want to put himself in that awkward position again!” 

Mai waved her slice of pepperoni pizza around slightly as she asked, “Ty Lee, what do you think?”

Ty Lee—who was sitting on the ground so the coffee/homework/cocktail table was at regular dining-table height—thought to herself for a moment, burrowing her cheeks in her hands as she did so. “I think,” she began tentatively, “That it’s more like a test of some sort. Like Sokka walking up to ask you for your name does nothing from his perspective because he knows he likes you. But you going over to talk to him confirms that you want to talk to him just as much as he wants to talk to you.” 

“That is _exactly_ what I think,” Mai said. “My girlfriend really does know more about flirting than you do, Zuko.” 

Ty Lee blushed into her bite of pizza; Zuko groaned into his hands. 

“Yes, we know that,” Zuko replied. “That isn’t news.” 

Ty Lee grinned. “You know what is—” 

“—No, please don’t—” 

“That Sokka likes you!” 

Zuko retracted into himself further, tucking his chin into his chest so that his forehead rested against his wrists, hands traveling upwards to his hair, which he tugged on in frustration. 

“You know,” he said, voice coming out muffled, “wit is better received when the audience is not expecting it.” 

“Well, romantic advances are better received when the audience is not you.” 

Zuko let his arms fall and lifted his chin up to meet Ty Lee’s grin, far too innocent to not have realized what she had done. But, to be fair, it was an impressive line, said to an unsuspecting audience, so, against his will, Zuko extended his arm towards her, balling his hand into a fist that was tapped by Ty Lee’s knuckles. 

“Thank you,” she giggled. Zuko grumbled in response. 

As he retracted his arm, Zuko noticed underneath the glass of the coffee/homework/cocktail table that Ty Lee’s foot was steadily bumping against Mai’s. His chest suddenly swelled: he wanted that, he realized, those kinds of soft reminders of an undying affection. But he wasn’t jealous of them for having what he didn’t. They were made for each other. Zuko, it seemed, was made for impressing his father, picking safe options, and blending in to stand out. 

Still, he imagined for a moment that it was Sokka’s foot that was tapping against his leg, in a soft, uneven pattern, whose only point was to say “you’re here with me and I’m here with you.” He couldn’t control the way his heart contracted at the thought. 

So, as to not embarrass himself further, he stood up. “Well, I'm going to bed,” he announced before heading in the opposite direction of his bedroom to put his plate in the sink—it was Mai’s day to do dishes—then doubling back past his still-silent best friends into his perfectly clean room. He was lucky to continue avoiding their scrutiny as he snuck into the bathroom and showered, forcing himself to think of the extremely unarousing section of _King Lear_ he had discussed in class earlier that day instead of conjuring images of strong arms and blue eyes and dangling earrings. 

He was not as lucky in avoiding Mai and Ty Lee as he crawled into bed after his shower, a favorite book in his hand, the spine cracking open too loudly until he realized the sound was actually his bedroom door creaking open. 

Ty Lee stood in the doorway in pink striped pyjama pants and one of Mai’s black t-shirts. “Wow,” she giggled, observing him in his bed, covers all the way up to his chest, book in hand, glasses on. “You really are an old man, aren’t you?” 

Zuko just scowled, making Ty Lee wince. Immediately, Zuko’s face softened—if Ty Lee looked so guilty for doing nothing out of line, she definitely came here to have a conversation where teasing him was not meant to be the focus. 

“Sorry,” she said faintly, looking at the ground. 

“There's nothing to be sorry for,” Zuko said, softly, hoping Ty Lee’s expression would relax. It did and Zuko let out a small exhale. “What's up?”

She approached Zuko’s bed, stopping at the end of it, ribcage casually leaning against the footboard. “Well, there is something to apologize for. I should have told you about reading the letter. It was personal and you should have known about it before I used it in an argument against you.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Zuko replied honestly. “I wasn’t even _mad._ I don’t even mind you both knowing. It’s just…”

Out of something like frustration, or fear, or a combination of both, Zuko shifted his glance from Ty Lee to the still-open book on his lap. The words were so much clearer than any he could come up with himself.

As he fumbled, Ty Lee encouraged him. “I know whatever you’re feeling is complicated, but I know you like him, so there must be some way to figure this out. And, if you're comfortable, I'm here to help. That's all we were really trying to do, you know.”

“I know,” Zuko nodded. “I just don't see why you need to help. What you need to help with. This is going nowhere.”

“But he _obviously-”_

“Yes, he doesn't hate me, I'm aware. I'd like to think Sokka could even be interested. But that doesn't matter, so please stop rubbing it in my face—”

“Of course it matters! How do you think people get together, Zuko?”

“It doesn't matter because I'm not going to pursue it.”

When the truth was out, the room stung with the vulnerability of it. Zuko looked up, finding Ty Lee nearly frozen, except for her eyes, which rapidly blinked in disbelief. 

“Why…” Ty Lee’s question hung in the air, the incompleteness of it reverberating throughout the room. 

“I feel like it should be obvious,” Zuko sighed. “My father couldn't handle me dating a guitarist. I'm supposed to be dating someone smart and focused and responsible—”

“Well, don't you think Sokka is those things?”

“Of course,” Zuko responded without a second thought. “But he's not my father’s version of it. Because he thinks all of those things are measured by the money you make. And, obviously, being a musician isn't a reliable career, so...

“How do you even know he wants to do it professionally?” Ty Lee’s voice was full of optimism. “What if he has some kind of super solid career path and you're just assuming this?”

Zuko shook his head, wanting desperately for Ty Lee to be correct, but knowing she wasn't, despite the fact, “I know he wants this. I haven't talked to him about it, but I can tell. The way he looked playing guitar...that's how I used to be playing the violin. And you know how that argument went with my father. I mean, I’m obviously not going to school to become a professional violinist.”

Ty Lee looked more hopeless now than after Zuko spoke last. But her thoughts were still positive; “Well maybe he's just the person you need,” she sighed. “I know you have a terrible relationship with your dad and that's not something I know how to fix. But you do deserve to be happy.”

Zuko’s mind momentarily flashed back to the image of Mai and Ty Lee’s gentle and constant touches. His heart ached at the memory; perhaps he did deserve that, but deserving something and being able to have it were two different concepts altogether.

“I know,” he said, because he did.

“Okay, then,” she said, but in a way that made Zuko know she wasn't entirely convinced. “I'm going to bed. Night, Zuko.”

“Goodnight,” he called after her as she left. As Zuko watched her walk away, his attention was directed towards the open door, which had been pouring a stream of light into his otherwise-dark bedroom. His gaze followed the light, finding it illuminating a violin case leaned against the wall. Zuko thought the placement fake until he realized it was too cruel and ironic to be.

The doorknob clicked shut, choking out the light. But the darkness couldn't stop Zuko from continuing to think about his violin. It has been six months since he had unzipped the dusted over case; he knew the strings were miraculously out of tune. But he wasn't sure if he'd remember how to play well. Were the movements still reflexes? Or had the left side of his brain gotten so strong from LSAT prep and philosophy readings that there was no way he could turn off logic and move through the motions by feeling alone? 

Going to bed with these fears in mind, the violin was practically radiating with mocking energy when Zuko woke up. He pretended to not notice the pull he felt towards the instrument, walking to the kitchen with a forced nonchalance to get a cup of coffee, surprised to see a platter of waffles and cut fruit on the counter.

He was still staring at it when the soft sound of bare feet on wooden floors became audible, causing Zuko to look behind himself to see who had caused the noise. It was Ty Lee.

Able to see Zuko’s confusion automatically, she said, “Mai made those for you. Apology waffles.”

Zuko blew out a breath. Mai didn't need to apologize; she was right about everything, as usual. But, just as he was about to make a passive-aggressive comment about the gesture, he was reminded of the rotten coldness he spoke to Ty Lee with last night, how she deserved none of it.

“That was very nice of Mai,” Zuko decided to say instead, reveling in the smile Ty Lee gave in response.

“She's running errands and I have to go get to rehearsal, so you'll have the house to yourself for a few hours.”

“Okay,” Zuko mumbled half-heartedly; he was too busy tossing waffles onto a plate and scooping berries on top of them to think much of the comment. It wasn't until after the front door clicked and the house fell quiet that Zuko understood what his solitude meant.

Once he figured it out, Zuko made a beeline back into his bedroom, barely slowing down as he passed the lightswitch that he flipped on. As his lamp flickered on, Zuko walked forward and outstretched his arm, finding the aim of his reach perfect when the light exposed the violin resting against the wall just beyond his fingertips. Zuko grabbed it and set the case on his bed, opening it up to find his lonely violin.

“Sorry for not playing you for a while,” he apologized as he got it out. He plucked a string with his finger and flinched at the screeching noise. “God, you're out of tune.” He laughed to himself, making sure to keep it soft enough that he could hear the strings change tune as he twisted the pegs.

Once he was satisfied with the tuning, Zuko brought his violin underneath his chin, freeing one hand that grabbed his bow. “Okay,” he spoke to his violin again, once he was ready to play. “Let's do this.”

After a deep breath, he started playing , he started moving his fingers, imperfectly recollecting the notes of Beethoven’s Romance No. 2— is it a G here? he’d think to himself, trying it out and, if he failed, trying another note after until it sounded correct. It was clunky and awkward and took him twice as long as it used to take for him to get through, but once he had finished, he smiled at himself proudly before starting again. 

It was, as expected, more familiar this time. Zuko was able to play enough bars correctly that his body began absent-mindedly swaying, carrying him through the music, his mind drifting in the process so the playing became more about feeling than anything else. His mind, seeped in the sounds, began drifting. It was normal enough that Zuko had anticipations about where his brain would send him: centerstage in a large theatre, its jewel-toned seats filled with an audience holding their breath at his playing. But this time, his mind painted a different picture, that was almost identical to where Zuko was playing now, except that there was a figure sitting on his bed, listening intently and enjoying every moment of Zuko’s music. 

The figure was Sokka. 

For a moment, Zuko faltered at the image of Sokka’s face, how his brain conjured up a version of Sokka who looked at him so deliberately it was as if no one else existed. Zuko’s fingers almost let go of the violin’s neck— it was too much. His fingers started slipping off of the violin. The notes tapered off. 

Zuko almost snapped himself out of the daydream until he realized that he would rather be embarrassed by this imaginary Sokka listening to him play than give away the perfection of the lie. So he started playing again, envisioning Sokka there. He kept playing, realizing that he was doing so for Sokka. He finished playing, realizing that the room was empty of Sokka’s body the second the music stopped. 

His heartbeat felt like he had just gone on a sprint. Zuko’s violin trembled under his grip as he struggled at breathing fully, thinking to himself, _you’ll get over him. This is just like any other crush. You’ll move on and meet someone Ozai thinks is correct._

Luckily, before Zuko’s conversation with himself got too soul-crushing, his phone began ringing on his bed. Zuko set his violin and bow down, seeing a text roll in from Mai above the notification that Yue was calling. Whatever Mai needed had to wait for the moment— calling was a sign of something massive, so Yue had Zuko’s full attention right now. 

When Zuko accepted the call, he didn’t even get to say a greeting before Yue began talking, tone low and breathless. “Zuko, I got it,” she said. “The job in New Mexico. It’s mine. They want me there next Friday.” 

Zuko’s mind spun in circles inside of his head. “Wait,” he started, with a deep breath, “Just so I’m clear, you got the position at the lab? The super competitive one?” 

“Yes,” Yue said in a tone that indicated that even she couldn’t believe it. 

Zuko’s immediate reaction was, please don’t leave. But, instead, as if she were in the room with him, he put on the best fake-smile he could muster, hoping it would bleed into his tone as he said, “That’s amazing. Congratulations.” 

“You’re the first person out of my family who knows.” It was supposed to be a compliment, but it didn’t help Zuko feel less alone. He wasn’t exactly close to Yue’s astrophysics friends, either— knowing before them didn’t hold as much weight as he knew Yue wanted it to.

“Well, I’m honored,” he lied, struggling to keep his tone positive. “I can let my Uncle know for work, if that’s easier for you, to give you time to celebrate.” 

“It’s no problem. I love talking to your uncle. I’ll miss him when I’m away.” 

“Yeah…” 

Yue cleared her throat on the other end of the line. “Okay, well, I’ll see you at work on Monday—” 

“Don’t they know you have finals week after next?” Zuko protested. “Shouldn’t they let you stay until then?” 

A small laugh—not mocking, more sad than anything—made its way through the phone. “Since it’s through the university, I’m having the professor I’m working with proctor all my exams. They wanted me there before finals week so I could settle in, since work starts right after.” 

Zuko grumbled. “Well, I guess you really have no excuses.” 

“Nope.” 

The line was quiet for a few moments after, just the empty buzz of unspokenness.

“Keep me updated on Sokka, okay?” Yue said, cutting through the quiet, tone so full of mockery that Zuko could envision the smirk on her face. 

“Shut up.” 

Yue was laughing in full by then. “You can’t be mean to me! I’m leaving in a few days. Do you really want the last thing for you to say to me before I leave to be rude?” 

“You just said that you’d be at work Monday,” Zuko sighed. He was relieved that the tone of the conversation had changed; he could worry about Yue leaving once it was happening. “I have plenty of time to be mean.” 

“Fine,” she agreed. “But I have to go. I’m calling Iroh next. But I’ll see you on Monday.” 

Zuko mumbled out a goodbye and the call ended. Feeling too deflated to continue playing, he opened his texts to see what Mai had sent him. There were several texts, telling him she was at the store, to text what he wanted, that the time limit on the offer of generosity was expiring. But then, he got to the last text: 

at the cash register then heading home, so you can’t ask for anything any more <3

Zuko swiped on the message to get the timestamp: 10:23 AM. It was now 10:45, and the store was only about twenty minutes away. Mai would be home any minute. 

“Shit,” he swore, collecting his violin and bow and carefully—but quickly—getting them back into the case. He zipped it up, barely missing a finger in the process, then jumped over to the wall and leaned the case against it. As he moved over to his backpack to get out his homework—Zuko figured he’d make it look like that was what he was going to his room to get—the front door groaned open. 

Zuko quickly skeeted out of his room, holding his homework with far too much purpose for it to seem casual. Regardless, when Mai looked over at him from the kitchen, she looked less accusatory and more worried.

“Are you okay?” Mai asked, hands still in a brown paper bag, obviously unpacking.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Mai took out a box of strawberries and set them on the counter. “What have you been up to today?”

Zuko scratched the back of his neck with his hand, the edges of various papers poking at him, just uncomfortable enough for him to notice. “Just, uh, homework.”

Without realizing it, Zuko had given himself a self-fulfilling prophecy. For the rest of the weekend, all he did was homework, except for necessary breaks for food, using the bathroom, and sleeping. Zuko sped through the rest of _Lear_ and drafted his term paper on it, even though the reading wasn't due until next week and the paper wasn't due for two. He had dish day on Sunday and there wasn't a dish left unwashed for more than ten minutes. But, most importantly, the violin went untouched for the rest of the weekend.

When Zuko entered the coffeeshop on Monday morning, the “now hiring” sign was up, the strangeness of it causing him to almost push on the door which he knew was a pull. Just as strange was the fact that Yue and Iroh were already behind the counter as he walked in, sipping out of mugs and laughing, the chairs down and tables ready for opening. 

“You’re here early, Yue,” Zuko mentioned casually. He made his way over to them, grabbing his apron as he passed through the employee entryway without even having to glance at the hooks that it had been hanging off of. 

As he slipped on the apron and tied it around his waist, Yue explained: “I figure you’ll probably be responsible for taking down chairs until you find someone new to hire. Plus, the earlier I get here, the more time I have here before I leave.” 

“You know we’ll still be here when you get back, right?” Zuko asked sarcastically. 

In response, Yue gave him a judgemental look, the kind of look that said “seriously?” in a scoffed tone. 

Zuko frowned. Obviously, it wasn’t quite time for Zuko to tease her without the sadness of the situation consuming Yue entirely. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I’ll miss you too. Here.” Zuko outstretched his arms and Yue stepped forwards to hug him.

When she pulled back, Zuko continued speaking. “I will miss you, you know. But it's only Monday.”

“Yup,” Yue smiled.

Out of some unspoken agreement, all three of them kept conversation extremely light as opening turned into the morning bustle, and as the morning bustle turned into Zuko anxiously waiting for the arrival of someone he was certain wouldn't be coming into the shop. Every time Zuko heard the door’s bell chime, his head darted towards it; every time it wasn't Sokka, his hopeful glance turned into a frown. 

After doing that for a number of times Zuko couldn't keep track of, he figured it was useless. So Zuko let the bell ring without the sound stealing his attention. It’s not like he's going to come back, anyways, Zuko told himself. _If I had a shot, I've missed it by now._

The doorbell rang. 

Yue was at the register while Zuko washed dishes, his back turned to the rest of the cafe. When Yue started speaking to him, Zuko didn't even bother to look over his shoulder at her. “I have to use the restroom, Zuko,” she said. “Can you help this customer for me?”

Zuko shut off the faucet. “Sure.” 

He turned around, gaze naturally falling towards the door, just to find a familiar face approaching the counter. The one Zuko had sworn he would never see again. 

Zuko’s head snapped towards Yue. He yelled out her name in complaint, but got no response except for a small giggle, its low volume an obvious indicator it was something she was trying to conceal to look innocent. 

Strangely enough, amidst the frustration he felt, Zuko was also relieved. Though her absence felt looming, Yue was still playing these kinds of games they had subjected one another to since she started working there, giving some sense of normalcy to what would soon be a very strange and lonely situation for Zuko.

So when Zuko turned to help Sokka, he felt hopeful, albeit extremely nervous. Sokka had not lost any attractiveness since the last time Zuko had seen him; Zuko had selfishly hoped that Sokka would come back with a horrific haircut or both eyebrows shaved off— anything, really, that made him easier to be looked at without Zuko feeling like his thundering heartbeat was going to swallow him from inside out.

Sokka approached the counter shyly, as if he hadn't hit on Zuko before. Both of his hands were shoved into the front pockets of his jeans. Zuko wondered if Sokka shared his trait of his hands shaking when having conversations that were difficult.

_Maybe he really does like me._

“Hey,” Sokka said, voice unsure. Zuko smiled at him because he couldn't help himself: it was Sokka. “Sorry for not coming in on Friday.” 

“No problem. College is just busy— I'm sure you had something else to do.”

“I didn't,” Sokka said. 

“Burnt out from the week?” Zuko suggested.

A hand that was in Sokka’s pocket reached up to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah…” he agreed, and Zuko secretly didn't buy it. “It was definitely an overwhelming week. Plus, I just got word back that I didn't get the job I interviewed for so the wallet is a little tighter than usual.”

“We’re hiring,” Zuko blurted out.

Sokka looked at him inquisitively, as if Sokka had made a terrible joke and he was the butt of it. Meanwhile, Zuko was yelling at himself internally, because it isn’t exactly a smart move to hire your crush to work with you when you're trying to get over him.

Finally, Sokka’s disbelief broke into a smile. “You're serious?” he asked.

Zuko nodded. “Yue got this amazing opportunity to work in a lab in New Mexico and she's leaving this Friday so, yeah, we're hiring. You'd work the same shifts as me.”

The second that detail left Zuko’s mouth, his throat became extremely dry. He imagined Sokka bumping into him casually behind the bar, Sokka talking to him about whatever he wanted between rush times. This was an awful idea.

Sokka seemed to disagree with Zuko on it: his eyes were bright and wide and his feet were rocking beneath him with what Zuko guessed was excitement. “You know that I literally know nothing about coffee, right?” he asked.

“I didn't either before I worked here,” Zuko said. “I was pretentious about coffee because of my uncle, but I didn't actually know what I was being pretentious about until this job.”

 _Why am I not trying to get him to not take this job?_ Zuko yelled at himself internally.

“Wait, are you the manager?” Sokka asked. “I always thought you seemed wise beyond your years, but I didn't know you were the manager—”

“I’m not the manager,” Zuko said, cutting Sokka off. “It’s my uncle, actually. I can get him for you— he’s probably in his office right now.” 

“Sure.” 

Zuko pulled out his phone from the pocket of his apron, dialed Iroh, and pointed his finger upwards to gesture “one second” at Sokka. He kept his end of the conversation quite cryptic, afraid to use names, as it could possibly expose to Sokka that he had been a subject of conversation on various occasions. The last thing Zuko needed right now was Sokka knowing how often Zuko talked about him after offering Sokka a job he didn’t have the seniority to offer him. 

Of course, Iroh blew Zuko’s cover the second he met Zuko at the register, as he said he was going to. 

“Oh, so you’re Sokka,” he said. Immediately, Zuko’s ears turned hot and Sokka smirked in Zuko’s direction. 

“Yeah, it’s nice to meet you—”

“Just call me Iroh,” Uncle Iroh responded for him. “You’ve seemed to have left quite the impression on my nephew. And, from his friendship with Yue, who is an amazing employee, I trust that his instincts can lead me to find great help for my shop. So I am happy to hire you, but I think we should talk a bit first.” 

“Sure,” Sokka said, smiling in full now. “Should I go sit at a table, or—” 

“You can come up to my office.” Iroh walked over to the bar’s employee entrance and waved Sokka over. Sokka quickly walked over and through the space, his gaze wide and sweeping as he took in all of the things behind the counter. This included Zuko, who was watching him carefully; it caused their eyes to meet when Sokka’s fell on him. For a small eternity they held each other in their gazes. Zuko needed to know what it meant but couldn’t figure it out. 

Sokka gave him a small smile and then left through the door Iroh had opened for him. Zuko could hear the beginning of Sokka’s sentence of, “Wow, is that staircase—” but then the door shut and it was just him. 

Until it wasn’t: once again the door to the storage closet opened, but it was Yue that came out this time, a playful smile on her face.

“Unless you had something last night or this morning that really upset your stomach, there was no way you were using the bathroom for that long,” Zuko accused. 

“Wow, I wonder if it was all an elaborate scheme,” Yue teased. Despite the fact Yue just admitted to leaving Zuko to his own devices, he couldn’t help but give out a scoff that turned into a smile. 

“I’ll miss you teasing me,” he admitted. 

“Sounds like you’ll have plenty of it still.” Yue wiggled her eyebrows and Zuko groaned, the palm of his hand meeting his forehead. 

“What do you already know?” 

“I’m pretty sure Sokka is interviewing to take my spot _right now._ I mean, I could be a complete idiot, but…” 

“You’re not,” Zuko sighed. “I was talking to him and he mentioned not getting a job he just interviewed for and I kind of blurted out the fact that we’re hiring and yes, now he’s with Uncle talking about the job.” 

Yue’s eyes got wide and her hands covered her equally parted-open mouth. “You totally just killed the flirting game. Like, this is a whole new level of how to get your crush to pay attention to you.” 

“Okay, first, I don’t need you yelling out how I feel about Sokka when he could walk out that door”—Zuko pointed behind Yue— “at any second—” 

“—Valid. I’m sorry—” 

“It’s okay.” Yue walked closer to him, in what Zuko understood was an attempt to make their conversation more private. “And second, yes, I like him, but I can’t date him. Ozai would never approve so I’m just going to use this whole hiring thing to turn this crush into a wonderful friendship.” 

The look on Yue’s face was appalled, like she had just eaten something extremely sour. “That sounds awful.” 

“I agree,” Zuko sighed. “But I got myself into this mess, right? I have to deal with it now.” 

By an amazing stroke of luck, the storage room door opened right then, and Iroh and Sokka emerged from it, both laughing loudly. 

Zuko was surprised when Sokka was the first to speak out of the both of them. “You must be Yue,” he said, outstretching his hand to her. “I’m Sokka.”

“Very formal,” she smiled. “I hear you might be taking over for me here.” 

As Sokka retracted his hand from Yue’s grip, he looked over at Zuko and smiled. “Really, now? I wonder who told you that.” 

Zuko scoffed and looked away. His Uncle spoke next: “You’re not wrong, Yue. I just spoke to Sokka and he seems like a great fit. He’ll be joining you both tomorrow at the beginning of your shift to start training with Zuko.” 

Zuko looked back at Sokka, whose smile was small and polite and awkward. Zuko understood the reason behind the look: it was strange for Sokka to be so directly inserted into Zuko’s life after their rather flirtatious conversations. It was like sweeping the elephant in the room under a carpet and pretending there's not a huge lump in the fabric.

“Well, I should go sit and study,” Sokka said. “I need to lighten my load for tomorrow since I have work now.” He turned to Iroh, giving him a bright smile and a, “thank you,” before glazing over Zuko’s hopeful eyes to turn back towards the seating area. 

When there was a counter between them Zuko called out after him. “Wait!” Sokka turned, eyebrows slightly pinched together, mouth a straight line. “You never put in your order.”

Immediately Sokka's features melted into a smile; Zuko felt himself grin slightly in response, only willing to give a little away. Sokka approached him comfortably—this was a dynamic they were used to, one, Zuko was realizing, which would be gone right after this order. This order which, as Zuko anticipated, was Sokka’s regular: twenty-four ounce mocha, iced.

As Sokka slung his backpack off of his shoulders to get his wallet from it, Zuko put his hand out in front of himself. “No need. Employees drink for free.”

Sokka smirked in response and shook his head— Zuko would have thought the action a basic Sokka everyday gesture if not for the intensity with which Sokka looked at him, as if he knew all of Zuko, as if he wanted to but could not say no to that.

“Fine,” he said gently, a bit of a laugh in it. “I'll be up in a second to get it.”

As Zuko turned around he found Yue and Iroh once again huddled up behind him, obvious audience members to the interaction which just occurred. Regardless of how normal finding them there was becoming, Zuko fisted his hands at his sides, looking from Yue to Iroh to Yue to Iroh and back again until he sneered out,

 _“What,_ you guys?”


	4. Chapter 4

After class, Zuko did everything he could to not think about Sokka. Looking around at his untidy room, at his desk filled with homework for philosophy class, at the sink full of dirty dishes—it was his day to do them—Zuko thought the task would be easy. Especially if he started with the task he most enjoyed: cleaning his room.

He ended up thinking about Sokka. Instead of cleaning his room. 

Eventually, Mai yelled at him to start cleaning—Zuko had asked her to do so in order to hold him accountable—so he begrudgingly began folding some clothes and putting others on hangers. As focused as Zuko’s hands were, his mind was drifting, wondering what the rest of Sokka’s wardrobe looked like. Did it only consist of button down shirts that accentuated his arms while playing guitar? Did he own anything in muted tones? Without patterns? Was he a hoodie or coat person? And would Sokka give his hoodie or coat to a date if they got cold while he walked them home? 

Zuko couldn’t quite process why it was so difficult for him to think about anything except Sokka. For all Zuko knew, Sokka could still turn out to be a self-absorbed asshole, bearing an overly inflamed ego for being the unofficial heartthrob of a college band that would probably never play at a venue more legitimate than their lead singer’s living room. Something in Zuko’s heart tugged at the idea. Zuko decided that the feeling was disappointment. But whether the disappointment was towards this fictional Sokka or at Zuko for creating him just to try and run away from the reality of the situation, Zuko couldn't—or perhaps didn't want to—know.

This disdain fueled him into normalcy: Zuko was able to finish cleaning his room, complete the philosophy readings for class tomorrow morning, and wash the dishes—bubble fight with Ty Lee included—without even noticing how quickly evening faded into night time. 

Unfortunately, falling asleep wasn't as full of distractions. Zuko’s mind kept slipping him into horrible scenarios, where he'd be trying to train Sokka and Zuko would always end up repulsing Sokka because of something—a rude comment, a suggestive touch, a strange smell from Zuko’s clothes. It kept Zuko tossing in his bed until his sheets were interwoven with one another and threatening to fall onto the ground in one big heap. 

What struck Zuko, as tired as he was from this torture, was how he was obviously terrified of Sokka’s interest in Zuko immediately crashing as soon as they spent long periods of time together. Training meant Zuko shedding off his customer service self, so if Sokka started seeming bored, there would be no excuse for Zuko to fall back on. It would be Zuko’s true personality which turned Sokka away. And that was a fear that felt impossibly large to bear.

Regardless, Zuko eventually drifted off into a stale and unrefreshing night of sleep, which turned into a boring and dry lecture in both philosophy classes, which turned into an embarrassingly fast drive over to the coffee shop.

Even though Zuko clocked into his shift ten minutes early, he was disappointed that Sokka hadn't clocked in yet.

That feeling continued for quite some time when Sokka unexpectedly failed to show up on time for his first day of work. Yue just shrugged. “Besides,” she had said,   
‘it is kind of a busy morning, so I need your help anyways.” 

But Zuko disagreed. _Doesn't this guy have any principles?_

Yue’s expression begged Zuko to agree with her; he let some anger slip off of his features and exhaled deeply. “The parking near here is awful,” he admitted, making Yue’s face perk up. “I’m sure he’s on time but just got screwed by that.” 

She nodded appreciatively before turning her back to Zuko to do some dishes. Zuko took his spot at the cash register, eyes peeled on the door. He hoped Yue really thought he was angry, instead of pretending to be just to cover his nerves. For, Zuko knew the first time Sokka had stayed to study at the shop that Sokka’s increased presence meant an increased chance for Zuko to make a fool of himself. The way that chance was going to multiply exponentially the moment Sokka began working with him was a terrifying certainty. 

Zuko couldn’t stop his fingers from tapping against the counter of the bar. 

The morning rush eventually cascaded into the shop, the noise distracting the voices inside of Zuko’s mind, those of doubt and those of reminding him to keep his eyes out for Sokka. 

But he didn’t have to, it turned out: in the middle of the loud morning rush, with voices on phones and the beep of the cash register sounding again and again, Zuko heard an unusually loud barrage of footsteps and heavy breathing coming from the general location of the door. Somehow he knew, even before looking up from the cappuccino he was making, that it was Sokka who had just arrived. And had done so nearly a half an hour late.

Sokka pushed his way through the crowd and behind the counter. “I am so...so sorry for being late…” he apologized, with each few words interrupted by a deep breath. “Something happened with a classmate…and I didn’t think it would take so long... and I ran here…” 

“You ran here?” Zuko asked, because it was so absurd he couldn’t help himself from doing so. He also wanted to avoid brainstorming what exactly it was that Sokka was doing with a classmate that made him lose track of time. 

“From the music room...yeah…” 

“That’s like, twenty minutes away.” 

Sokka’s hands were on his knees, steadying himself. “I’m...extremely aware of that…now more than ever...” 

Zuko suppressed a smile at that witty remark. Just because he was funny didn’t excuse his lateness. The same logic applied to how good his eyes looked due to the blue shirt he was wearing—Zuko wasn’t going to think about that, though. 

“Well, thanks for the apology,” Zuko droned out. “But you’re still late. Catch your breath and then put on an apron.” Zuko turned to continue making the drink he was holding, meeting Yue’s glance in the process. Her eyebrows were scrunched, her lips frowning in an appalled way; Zuko knew it was a silent question of why are you being so cold to him? 

Zuko made a defensive, half-scowl back—he liked Yue far too much to ever fully scowl at her—and continued with his work. When he looked up from the steam wand, Sokka had replaced Yue, and was standing next to him with so much eagerness Zuko could feel it radiating from his body. While Zuko was adamant about burying his feelings, he couldn’t deny the nerves looked quite cute on Sokka. 

“I’m guessing you’re the one who’s going to be training me,” Sokka said. He was smiling nervously, probably afraid Zuko would lash out at him again. Zuko couldn’t blame him for that fear. 

In response, Zuko made a conscious effort to soften his facial features, and respond, in as complimentary as a tone he could innocently muster, “Intuitive.” 

“Yue told me.” His thumb jutted in her general direction at the cash register. He was smiling brightly and proudly, obviously excited; it faded the longer he looked at Zuko, which was Zuko’s first hint that his face was still holding onto pieces of a scowl. 

“Hey, I’m really sorry I’m late,” Sokka said. His voice was quieter this time, and lower because of it, which Zuko’s heart rate didn’t quite know what to do with. “My friend had her final presentation for composition today and she called me telling me her sheet music was blank and her violin was missing. Apparently her printer wasn’t filled with black ink so the sheet music came out super pale, so we reprinted it, but we still couldn’t find her violin. We pleaded to get her final rescheduled to Thursday, but there’s no guarantee she’ll be able to find it by then. And the cost to rent is super high, so she’s scrambling for donations in case she has to rent one.” 

Zuko’s mouth was suddenly dry. His fingers ached with the familiar feeling of his luxury violin, often unused, but still worn with love. 

“I have a violin,” he said, casually. “She can borrow it.” 

Sokka stood next to him with a wide-open mouth and both arms dangling uselessly at his sides, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. 

“You have… do you play it? Or is it from like sixth grade orchestra?”

Zuko let out a small beat of laughter. “No, no. I just played it the other day after a long break. It still sounds good and everything.” 

Sokka nodded, letting the action drift his focus away from Zuko. “And is it uh...is it good quality?” 

“Yeah. It’s a Yamaha Model 5.” 

Sokka’s eyes darted back to him. “Holy shit. Why didn’t you lead with that? That’s the Cadillac of violins. Are you like living a double life where you work here during the day and at night you play high profile concerts wearing cufflinks? Like a classy Hannah Montana?” 

Zuko was truly laughing now; his head even tipped back slightly because of it. “I don’t even own cufflinks, first off, and I don’t think I’d want to. And I’m not living a double life. I used to want to be a professional violinist and I was planning to go to Julliard—” 

“—Did you get in?—” 

“Yeah,” Zuko breathed. It had been so long since he thought about Juilliard, the adrenaline and pride the acceptance brought, the way his father tore him down because it wasn’t practical to spend that kind of money to study the arts. Now, Zuko studied philosophy and English as a precursor to law school, conveniently hiding the fact that he chose the creative writing option. 

“And you didn’t go?” 

Zuko looked up at Sokka, focusing on him with such a steady gaze he could see right through him. Through his simple answer and disbelief. Sokka was a part of a band, spent his time in the music room, and sang original songs to an audience. He was obviously someone allowed to be genuine, encouraged. It made his energy intoxicating, his presence magnetic. But it also made him automatically misunderstand Zuko’s most life changing decision. 

Maybe his crush was premature. 

“It’s a long story,” Zuko said, even though it wasn’t.

Sokka nodded somberly, accepting the answer without question. “Don’t worry, then. We should probably get started, anyways.” 

“Oh, yeah.” Zuko realized he had forgotten why Sokka was even there. It felt so natural to talk to him. Even though it was his first day, it was easy to forget and slip into their usual banter and completely ignore the lack of counter space between them. 

Off of Sokka’s suggestion, Zuko led them around the back of the bar, dodging Yue as she made drinks so Zuko could give Sokka a tour of the appliances. Zuko heard his voice falling into a robotic rhythm of memorization; he tried to sound as enthusiastic as Sokka clearly was, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. 

Of course, Sokka had to comment on it. “You’re definitely not new at training people, are you?” One of his eyebrows was raised, both in accusation and in playfulness. 

“What gave it away?” Zuko answered just robotically. Sokka opened his mouth to answer, eyes set on Zuko, until that observing made it clear that Zuko was being sarcastic. Quickly, Sokka’s lips met in a thin smirk. 

“I’ve been working here for almost three years,” Zuko began, “so I always get stuck with training people.” 

Sokka looked away from him. “Ah, gotcha,” he said more quietly than usual. 

“That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it!” Zuko blurted. “I just don’t think teaching is for me.” 

“Well, so far, I’ve learned a lot, even if it was all from a robot.” 

Zuko laughed again. He realized that it felt like he was doing that a lot more often since Sokka clocked in. “Sorry, I promise I won’t be so monotonous now that we’re done with all the technical stuff and moving on to learning how to make drinks.” 

“Cool,” he smiled. “I like it more—it’s just better, you know, when you’re just you.” 

In a panic, Zuko’s eyes darted towards Yue, embarrassed to think she might have heard that. But she was talking to a regular of theirs; Zuko took a deep breath that he sucked right back into his throat when he remembered Sokka had just complimented him and was, of all things, smiling as he waited for a response. 

Zuko responded by clearing his throat and changing the subject. “So, uh, usually I have to ask for a new hire’s favorite drink—that’s what we always teach them how to make first, to make it more fun—but I know yours so, um, get a glass from the rack and I’ll show you how to make an iced mocha.” 

Quickly, Zuko realized that it was essential to have something neutral to talk to Sokka about. Something unrelated to the parts of Zuko’s personality that Sokka enjoyed. That way, Zuko didn’t risk blushing again, and didn't risk anything being exposed. Things of the _I definitely have feelings for you persuasion._

Just as soon as Zuko had realized these advantages that come with distraction, he figured out the disadvantages that came with the specific kind of distraction that was teaching your crush how to make an iced mocha. Zuko found that he had to stand quite close to Sokka, so that Sokka could hear him over the sound of ice hitting the bottom of a glass or the whirring of the espresso grinder. Of course, the space behind the bar was cramped to begin with, but there was something about the deliberateness of Zuko’s closeness that made him terrified any time he and Sokka accidentally brushed shoulders.

But that was nothing compared to when Zuko had to show something to Sokka himself. 

It happened after Sokka had made himself an iced mocha and was trying hot drinks for the first time. Since Zuko’s favorite was a lavender latte, Sokka asked that they start there. In his words, it was only fair. Zuko didn’t have any to respond with, too busy trying to not accidentally let confessions slip out. 

That was how Zuko found himself at the steam wand; it was embarrassingly obvious that Sokka had never gone near a steam wand before so Zuko did the best he could to hold back his well-meaning laughter— definitely not because it was coming from a place of fondness. No, Zuko was holding it back in the name of professionalism. 

Once the machine was on, Sokka picked up the milk pitcher, but did so by cradling the pitcher in his right hand alone, the palm of it supporting the base of the pitcher. 

“Wait,” Zuko said, “you’re holding that all wrong.” 

“I didn't know there was a correct way to hold this.” 

“Don’t worry, that’s why we have training. You want to use your dominant hand against the side and”—Zuko watched as Sokka wrapped two of his fingers from his right hand around the handle, which was exactly what he was hoping Sokka wouldn’t do— “no, that’s where you put your other hand—I’ll just show you, okay?” 

“Sure.”

Sokka must have been expecting Zuko to take the jug and show him through demonstration, because he seemed confused when Zuko asked, “Can I touch your hands for a second?” 

Immediately, Zuko regretted offering. Sokka looked at him with an expression between amusement and uncertainty. There must have been a spare pitcher somewhere; Zuko should have just gotten his own. 

Zuko cleared his throat, “Or I can—” 

“—It’s fine,” Sokka responded. It was relaxed yet assured and Zuko didn’t know where to store it on the scale of friendliness to flirtation. 

Zuko’s hands went to rest against the jug. “Okay,” Zuko said, mostly to steady himself, “so, you’re right handed, yeah?” 

“How did you know?” Sokka gasped. It was so adorable Zuko swore that if he were to allow himself to smile at the comment, his grin would be so wide it would hurt. 

“Well, statistically, it is more likely. And, when I asked you to move your dominant hand, you moved your right one.” 

“Intuitive,” Sokka complimented and yeah, that repetition of Zuko’s comment from earlier definitely felt like flirting.

Zuko didn’t smile, for the professionalism. “Okay, so what you’re going to do is take this hand”—he placed his right hand gently above Sokka’s left, which was on the counter— “and put where this one already is.” He guided Sokka’s hand upwards with his touch, so that Sokka’s left hand landed on the part of the handle that he wasn’t already touching. 

Zuko’s hand left Sokka’s; for a moment, Zuko was overwhelmed by how cold the rest of the world—that wasn’t Sokka’s hand—felt. He had to clear his throat before continuing, “And now... you’re going to take these fingers”—Zuko cupped the fingers from Sokka’s right hand, pulling them off the handle without resistance given— “and place your entire hand against the side of the pitcher, here.” 

He pressed Sokka’s hand against the jug, which made his hand end up layered directly above Sokka’s. It was disgustingly domestic; Zuko felt his heart swell at the simple intimacy of it. 

Sokka looked down at their hands, then over at Zuko. His expression was completely unreadable. Zuko, for the life of him, couldn’t decide if disgust or joy would have been the reaction he preferred, but he knew it wasn’t this. 

“Sorry,” Zuko said, voice scratchy, and embarrassingly so. 

“Don’t be,” Sokka responded. It was said so soon after Zuko’s apology, it reminded Zuko of all the times he had blurted out truths to Sokka without being able to control his words at all. So maybe everything was reciprocal. Maybe Zuko actually had a chance.

_It doesn’t matter. You can’t act on it._

He let go of Sokka’s hand and reached back over the pitcher to put his now-shaky fingers inside of his apron pockets, which definitely didn’t do anything but call attention to the fact he was trying to hide his hands from Sokka’s sight. 

But Sokka’s were still in his, so, as his teacher, Zuko had to say, “your hands are in just the right spot. Now, really memorize where your right hand is, because you’re going to use it to turn on the steam wand, okay?” 

For the rest of their two hours, Zuko kept conversation purposefully light and kept his hands purposefully in his apron pockets, except for when Sokka almost tipped over the mugs on the espresso machine and when Yue needed his help making a few drinks for a family that walked in; they were obviously touring, since the child that looked the closest in age to Zuko had their hands full of brightly colored pamphlets. 

“So, I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow,” Zuko said to Sokka as he began taking off his apron. 

Sokka stopped untying the string at that. “Uh, actually, I was wondering if I could swing by your place to get the violin?” _—Fuck, the violin!—_ “I wouldn’t be so pushy about it but I want to give my friend the most time she can to get used to it.” 

Even though Zuko was certain he wouldn’t survive the sight of Sokka at his doorstep, as if he was picking Zuko up for a date in an 80’s romcom, Zuko was still a man of his word. So it was with reluctance he answered, “Oh, yeah,” his fingers twiddling in his apron pockets. “I’m actually headed home now, so you can just follow me there?” 

Sokka snickered. “I hate to embarrass myself again, but, uh, I ran here, remember?” 

“Oh, yes.” Sokka was bouncing on his heels; he was most likely anxious about Zuko asking the only obvious question in response to Sokka’s: if he’d like a lift. Sharing space behind the bar was one thing; sharing space in someone’s car was an entirely different form of closeness. 

So Zuko’s voice was slightly strangled as he asked, “Are you okay with me driving you there, then?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay.” 

It was awkwardly quiet between them after that as they took off their aprons and said goodbye to Yue as she rushed past them and out of the shop for class. Once they were out from behind the bar, Zuko led Sokka to his car in silence, letting Sokka soak in all the glory of his obnoxiously massive and embarrassingly new Range Rover. 

“This was not what I was expecting for a violinist,” Sokka said as the rear blinkers lit up at the touch of Zuko’s hand against his keys. “It does fit the whole ‘I own a Yamaha Model 5’ image, though.” 

“What do you mean?” For some reason, even though it was in his usual parking spot, the car felt further away than usual.

Sokka scoffed, both eyebrows up. “Seriously, dude? Do you not see the correlation between a really nice car and a really nice violin, monetarily?” 

“So you think I’m rich,” Zuko sighed. Sokka pursed his lips and nodded at him, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. 

Because it was so much more complicated than that, Zuko had to sigh, again. “I know what it looks like, but trust me, those are the only top-of-the-line things I own. My father funds the images of me he likes best at the time, then he pulls them out from under the rug. Trust me, the second I stop resenting this car for representing my failure of becoming a violinist, my dad will offer me a small mansion as long as I change my path to go into finance and sell my soul to scam working class families.” 

“And you just go with it?” Sokka asked.

“I’m not sure what I’ll do the next time he asks.” Zuko opened the passenger side door for Sokka out of instinct, like it really was an 80’s movie they were living in. Then, once he got in from his side and shut the door, continued with, “I’d like to think I can stand my ground when it happens next. Or at least find a way to spin it for my advantage, like I’m doing now.” 

He pushed the key into the ignition and the engine roared into life. 

“Not to sound rude,” Sokka said pointedly, “but how exactly is you working at a coffee shop and not going to Julliard spinning things to your advantage?” 

“I’m majoring in Creative Writing, Sokka. Not just English. He doesn’t know.” 

Zuko pulled out of the parking space: he needed a reason not to look at the boy in the passenger seat, and driving was a rather convenient one. 

“Hmm. You seem like a poet.” 

“What does that mean?” 

Sokka didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “You know, poetry isn’t that much different than what I do, songwriting.” 

Zuko merged into the right turn lane. “Maybe like, lyric poetry, which is where songs come from. But poetry doesn’t necessarily require repetitive verses or rhyme.” 

“The soul of it is the same, though.” 

Zuko couldn’t help scoffing. “You know, for being the person in the car who isn’t studying creative writing, that was pretty poetic.” 

“It comes from the songwriting.” 

That warranted a look, Zuko decided. So, once he had turned, the road in front of him as straight as he could never be, Zuko glanced over to Sokka, staring him down with an annoyed look on his face, until it dissolved into laughter.

Neither of them tried to bring up another topic of conversation after the laugh dissipated into silence. But it was the kind of warm, thick silence that only good company provided, so Zuko was fine with basking in it, and assumed Sokka felt the same. They were only three lights to the house, anyways. 

As Zuko pulled into a stop by the curb in front of the green house, Sokka broke the agreed upon silence 

“This isn’t funded by dad, is it?” 

“Nope.” 

Sokka, who was previously staring out his window, turned to smile at Zuko. It was bright and warm and, somehow, with the backdrop of the green house, seemed to fit right into everything real and loving in Zuko’s life. “Well, I think it’s super cool. Kind of vintagey. I love it.” 

Zuko sighed, “Just wait until you meet my housemate, Ty Lee. She begged me to rent this place. She’ll give you a whole tour.” 

Sokka smirked. “And you won’t?” 

“I just dealt with you not knowing the difference between a cappuccino and macchiato for four hours. You’re lucky I’m still letting you step foot across the threshold.” 

“Yeah,” Sokka scoffed. “I’m definitely the annoying one here.” 

“I’ll revoke violin rights!” Zuko protested. 

Sokka was fully laughing now. Even though it was slightly directed towards Zuko, he couldn’t help but smile at it. “Yeah, sure you will,” Sokka challenged.

“Whatever, I’m leaving, and I’m not opening your door this time.” 

Zuko, ever the man of his word, was therefore reunited with Sokka at his doorstep, as he opened the door with his key. As it swung open and he walked in, Zuko immediately regretted all of the decisions that led to Sokka’s presence; not only would his roommates make whatever time Sokka was there excruciatingly embarrassing for Zuko, but his house was his. It felt like he had opened a door into his heart instead of his living room. 

Luckily, Zuko didn’t hear any other voices. “Sorry, it seems like my housemates aren’t here. Oh, and if you could take off your shoes—” 

Zuko turned, finding Sokka’s converse leaning lazily against one another, his feet now only in his crew socks striped with sheet music.

“—Wow,” Zuko laughed. “Those are, um, quite some socks….” 

Sokka folded his arms atop his chest. “You know, for having gotten into Juilliard, I’m surprised you don’t have embarrassing music geek stuff.” 

“I think I had a teddy bear in that same pattern at age six.” 

“Ha ha,” Sokka fake laughed. “Now, if you excuse me, I have a violin to find.” He brushed past Zuko and turned left, towards the hallway. Surprisingly, Zuko didn’t try to stop him. 

Instead, he called out, “second on the left,” and followed Sokka’s lead into his own bedroom. 

Never before had he been so happy to have a meticulous need to clean his room every few days. It was just untidy enough to look lived in, with some posters over his desk and plants here and there and a giant bookshelf filled with books stacked in all different configurations. The sheets were made, which somehow made being in there with his crush less intimate. It was more like being in an Ikea showroom.

“Ah!” Sokka shouted from in front of him, going to seize the violin from underneath the windowsill. “I have found the treasure.” As he got closer to it, his movements became more and more tentative. Zuko guessed it was because of the price until Sokka asked, “When was the last time you played it? It looks ancient from the dust on the case.” 

“I actually just picked it up a few days ago, but that was the first time in six months, so, it makes sense that it would seem old. I promise it still sounds good as new, though.” 

Sokka’s eyes narrowed— they had been doing that frequently, Zuko realized. “What made you want to play again?” he asked. 

_You._

Zuko cleared his throat— he had been doing that frequently, Zuko realized. “I just, uh, kind of felt it pulling me towards it. Ever have the same thing with the guitar?” 

Sokka laughed, as if it was the most obvious question in the world. “Every day.” 

In response, Zuko patted his hands against his jean-clad thighs, needing some sound to cut against the earnestness in Sokka’s voice. “Well, you have what you need, so, need me to walk you out?” 

“Yes. A ride home would also be great.” 

“Oh yeah, of course.” 

This time, Zuko led, and they left his house behind them as if Sokka being in it was something not noteworthy. 

“I’m still expecting a tour, you know,” Sokka teased as he opened the passenger door for himself. 

Without wanting to resist but fully aware of the fact that he couldn’t continue flirting, Zuko lamely responded with, “Yeah, sure.” 

It was that moment, with Sokka hopping into the passenger seat and Zuko walking around the front of his car that he usually parked the other way so he didn’t have to do this, that Zuko realized the next offer his father was going to have for him if he wasn’t careful: an eligible bachelor. Whoever it was, Zuko knew without meeting them they wouldn’t compare to Sokka. But it didn’t matter, because Zuko didn’t know how to save Sokka from this, let alone himself. 

He didn’t say anything as Sokka navigated them to his house. He gave Sokka a curt “goodbye” before driving away, hating the way he knew how much Sokka understood the responsibility he was holding in his hand as Zuko drove off.


End file.
